The Death of Sam Driscoll
by Pt29646
Summary: A prequel for the episode, The Belles of Silver Flats.


Sam Driscoll leaned against the bar and sipped his beer. It had been a long day, and he was tired.

Michael Davis, an attorney for the local cattlemen's association, had tried to hire him as a gunman to help protect the association's interest against an influx of sheep herders.

Sam had refused his offer. "It isn't the money," Sam told him, "I'm sick of fighting men I don't know for people and causes I don't care about."

Davis had listened to him. "Well, I guess I can understand that, but what are you going to do? You're too well known as a gunfighter. Do you think there's any place you can go that you won't be recognized and challenged?"

"I don't know," Sam said, "but I'm going to find out. Thanks for the offer, but no thanks." Now, as Sam drank his beer, he wondered where he could go. He had enough money to buy some land and start a small ranch or farm. He decided that tomorrow he would start for California.

"Hey, are you Sam Driscoll?"

Sam turned to find a young man standing behind him. He was drunk, swaying on his feet. Sam turned his back on him. "Go home, kid, and go to bed."

"Hey! I'm talking to you!" Sam watched the boy in the mirror over the bar. He didn't respond.

"Hey!" The boy shouted louder.

The bartender spoke to a couple of young men at a table, and they stood up and went to the young man. "Come on, Seth, it's time to go home."

"No! I'm talking to Sam Driscoll here. He's supposed to be fast. I want to see how fast he really is!" Seth staggered, and his friends steadied him.

"Seth, you're drunk - let's go. We've got work in the morning." They tried to lead him away, but Seth pushed them off.

"Come on, Driscoll, let's go outside."

Sam looked at the young man in the mirror, and said, "Listen to your friends, Seth. Go home."

"No! You aren't my father - you can't tell me what to do!" Seth sounded childish, and Sam Driscoll laughed as he turned around the face the boy. Had he ever been that young, he wondered.

"Seth, you don't want to fight me. Go home now." He was holding his beer mug when Seth drew on him.

"Don't laugh at me!" Seth pulled his gun out its holster clumsily and waved it.

"Put the gun away, boy." Sam said. His voice was soft and low, and his tone was firm. Seth's friends tried to take his gun away, but he avoided them. There was the sound of a shot, and everyone froze.

Sam Driscoll felt something hit him in the chest, and he looked down in surprise. Blood trickled through a hole in his shirt. He dropped his beer as he continued to stare at the blood. He looked at Seth. The boy, suddenly sober, was looking at him, his eyes wide in fear."Don't die," the boy whispered.

Sam's knees buckled, and, as he fell to the floor, he heard someone call for a doctor.

...

Sheriff Clayton looked up as the door to his office opened. A tall man came into the room. "Hello, John, I understand you have my boy here."

"Hello, Wade. Seth is back there, and he's going to stay back there."

Wade Marshall laughed. "Oh, come on, he's just drunk. He can sober up at home, and I promise I'll have a talk with him."

John Clayton leaned back in his chair. "Wade, maybe your other sons didn't tell you, but Seth shot a man tonight."

Marshall blinked. "What? No, is he dead?"

"Not yet. He's at the doc's, and I'm waiting to hear. If he dies, though, Seth will face a murder charge."

"Who did he shoot, John?" Wade's face was pale. Murder was a hanging offense.

"Sam Driscoll." The sheriff waited to see what effect the name would have on Marshall.

"Sam Driscoll the gunfighter? My boy outdrew Sam Driscoll?" Wade was shocked.

"No, he tried to challenge Driscoll, but Driscoll ignored him at first and then told him to go home and go to bed. Seth pulled his gun from his holster, and began waving it around. Driscoll never drew on him. As I see it, he spared your boy's life, and got shot for his pains." Clayton watched Marshall for his reaction.

"Pa? Is that you?" Both men looked towards the cells. "Pa?"

Marshall looked at Clayton. "May I see my son?"

Clayton nodded. "You'll need to leave your gun out here," and Marshall handed it to him.

Clayton escorted him to the jail in back of his office. Seth Marshall was standing at the bars. He looked relieved when he saw his father. "Pa, I thought I heard you. I knew you'd come for me."

Marshall looked at his youngest son and greatest disappointment. "Boy, do you know what you've done?"

"Yeah, Pa, I did it. I outdrew Sam Driscoll, the gunfighter. I've made my reputation." Seth was still too drunk to realize the effect his words were having on his father.

"You fool boy! You didn't outdraw Sam Driscoll. You're alive because he was too much of a man to draw on a drunk kid. You shot him by accident, and, if he dies, you'll be tried for murder. You could hang!" Marshall's face was red with anger.

"Pa, I didn't mean to...he laughed at me, Pa. It was his fault." Seth began to blubber. Marshall stood looking at his son, and turned away in disgust. He and Sheriff Clayton walked back out to the office.

Marshall stared at the floor and sighed. Then he looked at the Sheriff. "I'd like to see Driscoll, John. Maybe there's something I can do for him. At the very least, I want to thank him for not killing my son."

"All right, let's go over there together," said Clayton. They left his office and walked over to the doctor's clinic. It was late, but the lamps were lit in the clinic. Clayton tapped on the door, and then went in followed by Marshall.

...

Dr. Corbett Blalock came out from the back with a cup of coffee in his hand. "Oh, it's you," he said when he saw the Sheriff.

"How's Driscoll doing?" Clayton asked.

"He's still alive," said the doctor, "but he's asleep right now. He's been through a lot in the last few hours, and I don't want to wake him. I got the bullet out of him, and he may have a chance. He's a strong man."

Wade Marshall nervously licked his lips. "I'll take care of his medical bills, Dr. Blalock."

"Good," said Dr. Blalock. "It'll be nice to get paid in cash for a change." He sighed. "Gentlemen, I'm tired and I'd like to get some sleep. If there's nothing else..."

The Sheriff smiled. "We understand, Corbett. Please let me know if there's any change." The men said goodnight, and left.

The doctor watched them leave and turned down the lamp in the waiting room. He walked back to his treatment room, and stood over the man lying on a cot, studying him intently. Sam Driscoll was a tall man, standing just a bit over six feet with a barrel chest and broad shoulders. He had curly black hair and wore a mustache and beard. His eyes opened, and he stared up at the doctor.

Dr. Blalock sat down next to him. "Welcome back, Mr. Driscoll. For awhile I thought you might leave us tonight."

Sam tried to speak, but his mouth was too dry. The doctor picked up a glass of water and lifted his head so he could take a sip. The water wasn't cold, but it felt good going down. He lifted his hand when he'd had enough, and the doctor put it down, and laid his head gently on the pillow.

"What happened?" Sam asked.

"Seth Marshall got drunk and tried to draw on you. Do you remember that?" asked Dr. Blalock.

"Yes," Sam sighed. It was all coming back to him now. "I thought he'd killed me."

"He almost did. Do you know what saved your life?" asked the doctor. He reached for a small object on a table, and showed it to Sam. It was a pocket-sized Bible with a nick off its side. Sam looked at it in surprise.

"My parents gave me that Bible before I left home to go to school. I've always carried it." He studied the nick. "So, it deflected the bullet?"

Dr. Blalock nodded. He put it back on the table, and poured laudanum into a spoon. He gave it to Sam. "This is a light dose - I want you to get some sleep if you can. You need to rest. I'll be in the other room, so just sing out if you want anything." The doctor turned the lamp down low, and left the room.

Sam Driscoll shifted on his cot, and tried to reach out for the Bible. It hurt too much to move. He yawned - he just couldn't keep his eyes open - and went to sleep.

The next morning Sheriff Clayton was at the doctor's office bright and early. The door was locked, so he tapped on it until Louise, Dr. Blalock's wife and nurse, opened it. "Good morning, John. You're out early - or have you never gone to bed? I'll get you some coffee."

He came inside and followed her back to their living quarters beyond the front rooms that Corbett used for his waiting room and treatment room. Corbett Blalock was just finishing his breakfast when the Sheriff came in. He took at seat at the table while Louise got his coffee.

"How's the patient?" Clayton asked.

"He's holding his own. He woke up last night, and I gave him some laudanum for the pain and to help him sleep. I looked in on him a few minutes ago - he's still asleep. When he wakes up, you can talk to him," Dr. Blalock said.

"Good," said the Sheriff.

"How's the prisoner?" asked the doctor.

"Sick as a dog," said the Sheriff. "I hope he learns his lesson from this. He'll still have to do some time in prison, but at least he won't hang."

Louise shook her head. "What a waste. I remember Seth from when he was a small boy. He was just as sweet and polite a child as I've ever seen."

"He's still sweet and polite - when he's sober." said the Sheriff. "It's when he's drinking that he gets mean."

...

Sam opened his eyes and wondered where he was. He moved to get up, and the pain in his chest brought back his memory. He lay back with a groan.

Louise Blalock came into the room. She smiled down at him. "You're awake now - that's good. I'll get you something to eat."

She turned and went back into her kitchen, and was back in a few minutes with a cup of beef tea and a plate of toast on a tray. She set the food down, and propped Sam up with pillows. She put a tray across his lap, and set the food on it. "Now you just eat that while it's hot. The Sheriff will be here in a bit. He wants to ask you some questions. He's got the boy who shot you in jail."

Sam soaked a piece of toast in the tea and ate it slowly. "Tell me about the kid. Is he a troublemaker?"

Louise thought for a moment. "I wouldn't say that. He's the youngest son of Wade Marshall. He has two older brothers, and they all work for their father on his ranch. Wade works them pretty hard, so when they come to town, they tend to cut loose. Seth is a sweet boy, though. He's never been in any trouble before now. He was seeing a girl, and it was serious. She ended it a couple of months ago and married a drummer who was visiting her father. I think he's still upset over it."

The door opened and Sheriff Clayton came in. He smiled when he saw Sam Driscoll sitting up. "I'm glad to see you awake. How's he doing, Louise?"

"He's just had a little tea and toast. Corbett said you could ask him a few questions, but not to tire him out too much." She took the tray and left the room.

Sheriff Clayton sat down next to Sam. "You look a lot better than you did last night."

Sam grinned. "I feel a lot better."

"Can you tell me what happened?"

"I was having a beer at the bar, and this drunk kid tried to get me to draw on him. That's all."

"You could have killed him easily - stopped him from hurting you. Why didn't you?"

"I didn't want to hurt a kid." Sam leaned back against the pillows and sighed.

"Michael Davis came to see me this morning. He said he offered you good money to work for the Grange Cattlemen's Association, and you turned him down."

"I'm tired, Sheriff. I don't expect you to understand, but a man gets tired of earning his living with a gun, of having to move on from town to town."

Sheriff Clayton studied the man before him, and then took a book out of his pocket. "I brought you this - yours was damaged last night. I thought you might want to read it while you're here."

Sam Driscoll took the book and looked at it. "Holy Bible," he read. "My parents gave me one when I left home. I carry it in my pocket."

"I know," said the Sheriff. "That's what saved your life last night. The bullet hit it instead of going straight to your heart." He stood to leave. "I've got Seth in jail. I'll bring the papers over later for you to sign."

Sam looked up at him. "What papers are you talking about, Sheriff?"

"I need you to sign papers to press charges against young Seth for attempted murder." He gave Sam an odd look. "Did you forget you've been shot?"

"No, I reckon I'll never forget that, but Mrs. Blalock tells me that Seth is a good kid and hasn't been in any trouble before."

"That's true," said the Sheriff.

"I don't want to press charges against him. I'm getting a second chance - I reckon he ought to get one, too." Sam pushed a pillow away, so he could lie down.

"Are you sure?" asked Sheriff Clayton.

"I'm sure," said Sam. He shut his eyes, and Clayton left. In a few minutes Sam was sound asleep.

...

The Sheriff walked back over to his office, picked up the keys to the cells, and went back to unlock the door of the cell holding Seth Marshall. The young man looked up as Clayton unlocked the door.

"Is he dead?" the boy asked.

"No, he's going to recover. He figures since he's getting a second chance, you should get one, too. He isn't pressing charges against you." Clayton swung the door open and stepped back.

Seth snorted and stood up. "You mean my daddy paid him enough not to press charges."

"Seth, your daddy hasn't been anywhere near that man since last night when he went over with me to see how serious his wound was. Your father told Dr. Blalock to send the man's medical bills to him, but that's all." Sheriff Clayton was out of patience with Seth. "That man over there has saved you twice, boy. Once was last night when he didn't shoot you because you were young and drunk. The second time is now because he isn't pressing charges and you aren't going to prison. You're getting a chance to make something of yourself, son. Stop feeling sorry for yourself because some little girl dumped you. Pull yourself together and act like a man before it's too late."

Seth picked up his hat and left the office. When he walked out into the afternoon sunlight, he wondered for a minute where he should go first. Then he went over to the doctor's office, and went in. There was no one in the waiting room, so he went into the treatment room. Sam Driscoll was lying on a cot, but he wasn't asleep. A book was open on his chest.

"Mr. Driscoll?" The voice was familiar, and Sam turned and looked at the young man across the room from him.

"Yes?"

Seth was nervous. He licked his lips and removed his hat. He twisted the brim in his hands. "Mr. Driscoll, I'm Seth Marshall. I'm real sorry I shot you. I was drunk and just acted the fool..." his voice died away. "Anyway, I wanted to tell you how sorry I am, and that I hope you can find it in your heart someday to forgive me. And I wanted to thank you for not pressing charges against me. Sheriff Clayton tells me that I won't be going to prison because you refused to press charges. Anyway, that's all, Mr. Driscoll." Seth turned to go, but Sam's voice stopped him.

"Can you read, boy?" Sam asked.

"Yes, sir, I read real good. You got something needs reading?" Seth was anxious to help.

"Yes, I want you to read to me now if you will." Sam said.

Seth pulled up a chair and sat down. He picked up the book on Sam's lap. "The Bible, huh? You got a favorite passage you want to hear?"

"Psalm 23," said Sam.

Seth turned to the page and began reading. He read well, and Sam relaxed as he heard the familiar words. When Seth finished, Sam asked him to read Psalm 100. Afterwards, Sam lay quietly thinking.

"You want me to read something else to you, Mr. Driscoll?" Seth asked.

"No - no, thank you," said Sam.

"Mr. Driscoll, I can come in every day and read to you, if you'd like. If you can't read, I'd be proud to teach you."

Sam looked at the boy. He was pathetically eager to please, to atone for his actions. "Don't you have any work to do, boy?"

"Yes sir, but I'd just ask my Pa to take me off the payroll until you're better. That way I could just do my barn chores and spend the rest of the day helping you." Seth smiled at him.

"That's a kind offer, Seth, but I'm getting better fast and I don't want you to ask your father to take you off the payroll. And I know how to read, but thank you for that kind offer." San fought a yawn. He was getting tired. "Thank you for reading to me, Seth."

He was asleep before Seth got out the door.

...

It was late when Seth reached home. He put his horse up and spent extra time grooming him. When he couldn't delay it any longer, he went inside. His father and brothers were eating supper, and they looked up at him in shock.

"What you doing here, boy?" asked Wade. He immediately leaped to the wrong conclusion. "Don't tell me you've done some fool thing like break out of jail!"

Seth shook his head. "No, Pa. That Mr. Driscoll decided not to press charges."

"Oh." Wade sat back in his chair. "Well, how much did you offer him?"

"Nothing, Pa. He said since he was getting a second chance, I should get one, too." Set sat down at the table and served himself some stew.

"All right, well, tomorrow I want you and Jacob to move the cattle down from the north pasture - "

"Pa, I can't." Seth took a deep breath. "I'm going back to town tomorrow to see what I can do to help Mr. Driscoll."

"Help Mr. Driscoll? What can you do to help him?" Wade almost hooted his contempt.

"Today I read to him, Pa. Until he got tired. I can do what he needs or I can fetch someone to help him, but I owe him, Pa. And you always taught me a man pays his debts. I'd be going to prison if he'd pressed charges." Seth's palms were sweaty and his voice was shaking, but he was determined. He'd never refused to do any chore his Pa had assigned him.

Wade Marshall looked at his youngest son as if he were seeing him for the first time. "I'll have to take you off the payroll."

Seth swallowed. "That's fair, Pa. I won't be working here like Jacob and Israel," he indicated his brothers.

"All right, boy, if that's the way you want it." The family finished their meal in silence.

...

Seth walked in on an argument the next day when he got to the doctor's clinic.

"But I need to get up -" he heard Sam say before he was shouted down by Dr. Blalock.

"If you get up, you're going to undo all the hard work I've put into you. You will stay in that bed until I tell you you can get out of it. If there's something you need, let Louise or me know -"

"You're busy, and I can't bother Miss Louise -"

"I'm here. You can tell me what you need and I'll get it for you."

Sam and Corbett looked around in surprise at the sound of a new voice. Seth stood still as they stared at him.

"What are you doing here, boy?" asked Sam.

"I came in to see what I could do to help you. If I can't do it, I'll get someone who can." Seth held his hat in his hand, and fiddled with the brim.

"What about your work on your Pa's ranch?"

"I told Pa I was coming here, and he said he'd take me off the payroll until I wasn't needed here." Seth met Sam's gaze squarely.

"There!" said Corbett. "Problem solved. The boy here can help you bathe or whatever fool thing it was you needed to do that you didn't want to "bother" Miss Louise with although as my nurse there's nothing about a man she hasn't seen."

Sam closed his eyes and prayed for patience, and Corbett Blalock left the room.

"Did you want a bath, Mr. Driscoll?" Seth asked. "You'd probably feel better if you were clean - smell better, too."

Sam opened his eyes. "You're not exactly a sweet bouquet of roses, boy."

Seth grinned. "No, sir, I reckon I'm not. I'll get some hot water and soap."

Within an hour Seth had a bowl of warm water, soap, and was bathing Sam Driscoll. "Where did you learn to do this?" asked Sam.

"From Lupe, the Mexican woman who does for us on the ranch." said Seth. "A couple of years ago Pa got thrown from a horse he was breaking and broke his hip. He had to be in bed for months. My Pa's a big man, and she couldn't manage him by herself so I helped her. Anyway, I learned then."

When Sam was clean, Seth pulled a new nightshirt out and helped him into it. Sam looked at it. "This isn't mine."

"I thought you might want something fresh to put on. I thought I'd take your clothes over to Lee Sing's and have him wash them. He does the heavy laundry for the ranch, and he's real good. I got you a new shirt to replace your other one." Seth said.

Sam looked at him. "Well, boy, you just thought of everything."

"I tried to, Mr. Driscoll." Seth took the dirty water out and poured it on Louise's kitchen garden. When he came back in, he stared at Sam Driscoll for a few minutes.

"What is it? Have I grown another head?" Sam asked grumpily.

"No, sir, but I was wondering - have you ever shaved off your beard?"

"No. Why?" Sam was curious.

"Well, that was partly how I knew it was you. You're known by your beard. If you shaved it off, maybe no one would recognize you and you wouldn't get called out."

Neither man had noticed Sheriff Clayton come in, and they jumped when they heard him say, "That's a right good idea, Seth. You might want to consider it, Driscoll."

He walked through the room to see Corbett and Louise. They spoke in whispers for a few minutes, and then both men came back out.

"Sam, we're going to have to move you. You aren't safe here. Word is out about the incident last night, and..." Sam tried to sit up, and Corbett put a hand on his shoulder to stop him. "That doesn't mean you get up. We're going to wait until after dark, and then we're going to move you to the Sheriff's house."

"If I'm not safe here, won't that put you and your family in danger?" asked Sam.

"I live alone," said Sheriff Clayton. "I have room for you and Seth in my home. No one will know you're there. Seth, you go home now and get enough clothes to spend the next week or so at my house. Tell your Pa where you are, but no one else."

"What about Lupe? She'll worry if I'm not there," said Seth.

"All right, you can tell Lupe, but not your brothers and none of the hands," said Clayton.

...

That night Seth, Sheriff Clayton, and Dr. Blalock moved a cot to the back of a wagon parked at the back of the doctor's house. The Sheriff drove the wagon around to the back of his home, and the three men moved the cot and the man on it into a bedroom.

Seth had been there earlier to make up the bed with fresh linen and turn the covers back. When they brought the cot in, they set it down, and together the three of them carefully lifted the man on it into the bed.

In spite of their efforts, Sam was pale and biting his lips to keep from crying out in pain. Seth had pulled the shades down and he quickly lit a lamp. Corbett checked his patient. "And you wanted to get up this morning - you're white as a sheet just from being carried over here on a cot. John, you stay here with him while Seth helps me get the cot and the wagon back to my house."

Seth and Corbett left and John wet a cloth and wiped the sweat from Sam's forehead. "How's that?" he asked.

"It's fine, Sheriff, thanks." He lay back against the pillows and closed his eyes. The pain was terrible, but if he could just breathe through it...In a few minutes he became aware that the Sheriff was reading aloud.

The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.

He maketh me to lie down in green pastures; he leadeth me beside the  
still waters.

He restoreth my soul; he leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for  
his name's sake.

Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear  
no evil; for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.

Thou preparest a table before my in the presence of mine enemies;  
thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over.

Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life; and I  
will dwell in the house of the Lord for ever.

When the Sheriff finished reading the psalm, they sat in silence for a few minutes. "Sam, how did you become a gunfighter?"

"My parents owned a small farm in Georgia. It wasn't worth a lot, but they made a living from it. It lay next to a large cotton plantation - over a thousand acres and more than five hundred slaves.

"The owner was a man named Smithson. He was mean and greedy, and he decided he wanted the farm. He made my father several offers, but Papa refused them all. The farm had been in our family for over a hundred years.

"Anyway, Smithson claimed that Papa and Mama were helping his slaves run away, and he went to the farm one night with a group of men - I wasn't there - they had sent me off to a boarding school in Savannah.

"When Papa came out on the porch to confront them, they shot him. Mama ran out to him, and they shot her, too. Smithson took the livestock, claimed they were restitution for his missing slaves, and he allowed the others to loot the house.

"Then they burned everything. By the time I found out, it was all over. My parents were dead and the farm was gone." Sam stopped speaking, and Clayton poured him a glass of water. He lifted Sam's head gently and held the water to his lips. After a few sips, Sam waved his hand and the Sheriff laid his head back on the pillow.

"I was fourteen, and I wanted revenge. I knew how to shoot - my father and I went hunting all the time to get game for the table. I knew how to survive in the woods - Papa had taught me that, too.

"I went home and I sought those men out and shot them one by one, face to face, which was more than they'd done for my parents. After I killed the first two men, the others were on their guard, and it became a little harder to catch them alone and confront them. I managed, though.

"I saved Smithson for the last. I wanted him to know that death was coming, and that it was coming from me. He was the biggest coward. He offered me money to let him live, offered me the deed to a piece of land to just go away. He offered me slaves - as if I would ever own another person. When he saw that none of his offers were any good to me, he grabbed a gun and I shot him. Then I set his house on fire, and I left."

John Clayton shook his head. "That's terrible, son. How old are you now?"

Sam laughed. "I'm twenty-eight, Sheriff. Before I was sixteen I killed nine men because they killed my parents."

"How many have you killed since then?" asked the Sheriff.

The gunfighter sighed. "I never was one for putting notches on my gun, Sheriff. I've killed three men since then, and they all three called me out - the first one was drunk, and I bumped into him. It was an accident, and I tried to apologize, but he wouldn't let it pass. He was going to shoot me, so I had to fight. It turned out he was Dirty Dave Johnson, and after I shot him, it made my reputation as a gunfighter. The others called me out to make their reputations. After that I got jobs based on my reputation, and the money was good, but when the job was over, everyone wanted us to leave."

"What made you want to stop being a gunfighter?" the Sheriff asked.

"What I told Michael Davis - I'm tired. I'm tired of looking over my shoulder, watching out for the next gunfighter who wants to make his reputation by outdrawing me, tired of being told to move on because a gunfighter isn't wanted in a town." He looked up at the Sheriff. "It's like I told you the other night - I'm just tired."

Sheriff Clayton drew the sheets up around Sam and tucked him in. He stood up to turn the lamp down. "Sam, were your parents helping Smithson's slaves run?"

Sam sighed. "Yes, they were. They didn't want to get involved at first, but when Papa saw the scars from a bullwhip on a man's back he couldn't refuse him help. Smithson didn't know it for sure, though. And he didn't have to shoot my mother."

The Sheriff nodded and turned down the lamp. "Goodnight, Sam."

...

Sam awoke the next morning to the smells of coffee and bacon. He could hear voices, and he tried to sit up. Pain shot through his chest, and he lay back, gasping. He didn't realize that he'd cried out, but the door to his room opened, and both Seth and Sheriff Clayton were standing there. "Did you call us?"

Sam shook his head. He still couldn't catch his breath, and they came in to help him. Sheriff Clayton helped him sit up while Seth stacked pillows behind him. "We'll have breakfast for you in just a minute."

Seth brought him hot beef tea and toast on a tray. When he'd eaten, Seth bathed him, and then brought in a bowl of hot water, a straight razor, a cup of lather, and a towel. He took a pair of scissors, and cut Sam's beard close to his face. Then he put a hot towel on his face. "Is it too hot?" he asked.

"No, it feels wonderful," sighed Sam. Seth removed it, stirred up the lather in the cup, and spread it on his beard. He shaved Sam carefully, and, when he was finished, stood back and looked at him in satisfaction.

Sheriff Clayton came in and looked at him. "You don't even look like the same man, Sam. You look younger." He handed Sam a mirror. Sam stared at a face he hadn't see in years. The Sheriff laughed. "You're a handsome man, Sam, now that I can see your whole face."

They all laughed, and then the Sheriff said, "I've got a visitor coming to see you later today. He'll take supper with us."

"Who is it?" asked Sam.

"Someone very much like you, Sam, and I think he can help you." That was all he would say.

Seth and Sam spent the rest of the day quietly. The bed was infinitely more comfortable than the cot, and Sam found it difficult to keep his eyes open. He slept off and on through the day.

When he woke up, Seth was there with chicken soup, beef tea and toast, or water. Sheriff Clayton came home for dinner, and, while he was there, Seth took his clothes over to Lee Sing's in Chinatown.

Sheriff Clayton took his coffee back into Sam's room to sit and visit with him. They talked, and the Sheriff told Sam to call him John. It was an easy transition for Sam. It seemed to him that he'd known the Sheriff for a long time.

Seth had returned by the time Sheriff Clayton needed to get back to his office. "They should have your clothes ready by tomorrow, Mr. Driscoll," said Seth.

"You know, Seth, maybe you could call me Sam," suggested Sam. Seth stared at him very seriously for a few seconds, and then said, "All right - Sam."

Seth left his door open, and told him to call if he needed anything. He could hear Seth in the kitchen preparing supper. Seth had left him propped up on his pillows, and he picked up the new Bible John had brought him and began reading for himself.

He read his way through the Books of Matthew and Mark before his eyes grew tired, and he put it aside. He lay there, not ready for sleep, and, for the first time in fourteen years, he began to pray, "Dear Lord Jesus, I know that I am a sinner, and I ask for Your forgiveness. I believe You died for my sins and rose from the dead. I turn from my sins and invite You to come into my heart and life. I want to trust and follow You as my Lord and Savior. In Your Name I ask these things. Amen."

As he prayed, tears came into his eyes, and Sam Driscoll wept for the first time in fourteen years. He wept away years of bitterness and hatred, loneliness and fear.

"Sam, are you all right?" Seth was standing in the door, looking at him in concern.

He couldn't speak - he was still overcome with emotion, but he nodded. Seth went back to the kitchen but returned in a few minutes with a glass of water and a clean cloth. He gave the water to Sam, and poured fresh water into his basin. He soaked the cloth in it, and brought it over to Sam to wash his face. When he was certain that Sam was in no pain, he left him and went back to his supper preparations.

Sam lay still and rested. He felt peace enter his heart, and he knew that he was loved. From that moment on, he began to heal, spiritually as well as physically.

When Sheriff Clayton came home that evening, Seth had supper ready. He had moved a table into Sam's bedroom, and set it for three. He had Sam's tray ready. John brought a stranger into Sam's room. He was a tall man with silver hair and a deep voice.

"Sam, I'd like you to meet a friend of mine, Reverend Lucas Graham. Lucas, this is Sam Driscoll."

Lucas Graham shook hands with Sam, and studied the young man. He saw the faint outline of a beard, a cleft in his chin, deep dimples in his cheeks, and hazel eyes. He didn't see what he had expected to see - the cold, hard eyes of a killer. For John's sake, he was glad.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Reverend." Sam felt uncomfortable under the older man's scrutiny.

"The pleasure's all mine, Mr. Driscoll."

Seth brought platters of food into the room and placed the on the table. The delicious odors triggered Sam's appetite, and he ate his soup with real enjoyment. Seth gave him a second serving, and he ate nearly all of it. The men talked as they ate, and Sam enjoyed their conversation.

When it was time for the Reverend to leave, he took Sam's hand. "I've enjoyed meeting you, Mr. Driscoll. I'd like to come see you again. May I?"

Sam smiled. "Yes, Reverend, I believe I'd like that."

...

The next few days passed quickly. Sam grew stronger every day, and enjoyed his talks with Reverend Graham. By the end of the week they were Lucas and Sam, and Lucas answered many of his questions about the Bible and his newfound peace.

Corbett and Louise Blalock came for supper one night, and, after his examination, Corbett told Sam he could get up the next day and sit up for up to four hours. Seth beamed, and Sam and John had to agree that his improvement was due in great part to Seth's good care.

The weeks passed, and Sam had been at John Clayton's for a month. He was allowed to take short walks every day with Seth shadowing him, ready to offer him an arm if he needed support. They walked in the morning, and in the afternoon, Lucas came to visit. Seth prepared supper, and read to Sam and John from _The Three Musketeers_ until time for bed. It was a peaceful routine, and all three men enjoyed it.

At the end of the month Dr. Blalock gave Sam a final examination. "You're as fit as you're ever going to be," he said. "You can thank your doctor."

Sam laughed. "How much do I owe you?" he asked.

"Nothing - the night you were shot, Wade Marshall, Seth's father, came over and told me he'd pay your medical expenses."

"That was kind of him. Did he realize that Seth was going to be my nurse for a month?" asked Sam.

"Maybe not, but it's been good for the boy. He's grown up a lot in the time he's spent with you and John Clayton." Dr. Blalock leaned back in his chair. "What are you going to do with this second chance you've been given?"

"I've talked with Lucas Graham, and I've decided to move to San Francisco. They have a seminary there, and I'd like to go and study. Lucas has written to two of his old professors, and they've agreed to give me an interview. I'll have to take Latin before I can be admitted as a full student, but I believe it's what I should be doing right now."

"What are you going to do if anyone comes looking for Sam Driscoll?" asked Corbett.

"They won't find him." Sam smiled and left the doctor's office.

That afternoon Sheriff John Clayton, Reverend Lucas Graham, Seth Marshall, and a newcomer, Dave Clayton, stood around a mound in the cemetery. A small wooden cross bore the name, "Samuel Driscoll, Jr."

Reverend Graham conducted the service according to the _Book of Common Prayer_, and, when it was over, they went back to John Clayton's for a final supper. The next morning Seth would return to his father's ranch and Dave would leave for San Francisco. John opened a bottle of wine and poured a glass for everyone.

"How did you choose the name, "Dave Clayton?" asked Seth. "I knew you and the Sheriff had talked about it, but you never said."

John and Dave looked at each other, and John said, "David Michael Clayton was my youngest brother. He died as a young man. Sam reminded me of him, and I thought of him when Sam said he wanted a different life. He could never have it as Sam Driscoll, but as Dave Clayton he has a chance. I offered him the name and he accepted it."

That evening after Lucas had gone home, Seth, Sam, and John gathered in the parlor. Seth read the final chapters of _The Three Musketeers_, and they went to bed. The next morning they were up early. John went to work; Seth went home, and Dave set out for San Francisco.

...

Seth reached his father's ranch early that morning. He went inside and found Marshall sitting at the breakfast table alone. He sat down, and Lupe brought him a cup of coffee. "Thank you," he acknowledged her.

"Good morning, Pa," he said.

"Good morning, son. Are you home for good?" Wade asked.

"Yes, Pa. Where do you want me to work today?" Seth asked.

"I wasn't sure you'd be back," said Wade. "It's such a different life in town I thought you might get to like it. Maybe you'd want to become a deputy after being around John Clayton."

"I did like living in town, Pa. It was different, but I missed the ranch. I missed working outside, riding my horse at a full gallop. I missed you and Jacob and Israel and Lupe." Seth was quiet for a moment. "I didn't miss the cattle." He and Wade both laughed.

"I missed you, son, but I'm proud of you. John told me what a good job you did - he said you never shirked any duty, no matter how irksome." Wade stood up and walked around the table. He patted Seth on the shoulder. "Welcome home."

...

Dear Lucas,

Greetings from San Francisco! I've met with your professors, and I begin classes next term. I've taken a job in the seminary's library. It's different from anything I've ever done, but maybe that's for the best right now. I'm working full time now. Next term when I begin classes, I'll work part-time. Thank you for this opportunity.

Sincerely,

Dave

...

Dear John,

I made it to San Francisco, and contacted Lucas' old professors. I was nervous during the interview, but they were kind and helped me through it. I'll begin classes next term. I've taken a job in the seminary's library, and I've hired a tutor to help me learn Latin. It isn't hard for me, so that's encouraging. I don't know how to thank you for all your help. I would not have survived if you hadn't reached out to me. Thank you for everything.

Sincerely,

Dave

...

John Clayton read his letter over again, and smiled. Sam - no, Dave would be all right - he would have a good life. He looked at a daguerrotype of a young man, his brother, Dave, who had gotten drunk one night and called out a gunfighter who hadn't been as patient as Sam Driscoll.


End file.
